


Somnium

by tredecaphobia



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Accidents, Angst, Bromance, Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FFXV Whump, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gladio being a big bro, Hurt/Comfort, Lucis (Final Fantasy XV), Mental Health Issues, Minor Injuries, Platonic Love, Regis being a dad, Serious Injuries, Slice of Life, Whump, don’t mess with King Regis’s baby, elemancy, h/c, in-game, no beta we die like men, roadtrip disaster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-29 23:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14484039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tredecaphobia/pseuds/tredecaphobia
Summary: Collection of drabbles and one shots, pre-game and (so far) pre Chapter 8.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Or: When Coeurls Attack. Featuring Prompto as the least seasoned of a bunch of 20-something’s.

It wasn’t as though it was uncommon for one or all of them to sustain injuries on the road; with the local flora and fauna mutating for unknown reasons, daemons becoming more and more prevalent, and their lack of funds necessitating their finding jobs, getting hurt was all too common. Mysteries scratches and bruises seemed to flourish on their own, blooming on what had been thought to be previously unmarred skin. And what with Ignis’ obsession with saving the meager funds they did manage to acquire, and Gladio’s love of roughing it, even the beautiful natural world around them seemed to conspire to try to murder them.

It was only due to Gladio’s survivalist knowledge that had kept it from being worse, and the training they’d all gone under for years, if not since childhood, in cases such as Gladio keeping them just a step ahead. 

That didn’t mean one of them getting hurt was any less alarming than it ordinarily would have been; Prompto knew watching something the size of three transport trucks descending upon your friend, claws extended, was as terrifying for Gladio as it was for him. But it always managed to be a little extra terrifying when it was aimed at Noct- or, worse yet, when Noct would jump into the path of the oncoming monster to intercept it in an attempt to save his friends. Heedlessly, recklessly, with no thought for his own safety. It wasn’t as if it didn’t turn out alright in the end; but there had definitely been some heart-stopping moments when he’d watched Noct get hit by a flailing appendage so hard, he could hear his friend’s bones grind together.

Like right now.

They really hadn’t expected a coeurl to be there. It wasn’t the habitat you’d find coeurls in, after all- they preferred the warm, humid climbs of the jungles to the south, certainly not the arid deserts outside of the crown city. Noct had, admirably, been the first to react, and even Gladio had needed to catch up when the Prince warped suddenly away, and the clash of claws on steel, and a sudden current of electricity through the air, made Prompto’s hair stand on end. He could vaguely hear Ignis muttering about Noct’s disregard for his own well-being, and Gladio’s battleground shout approving Noct of his initiative. But he was trying to deal with the sudden rush of adrenaline in his blood to really focus on that. A little too focused on hammering as much lead as was mechanically possible into the monstrous cat’s hide to pay too much attention; he just needed to get the thing away from Noct, as it seemed to have gotten its maw around his left forearm after swatting him to the ground like an obnoxious insect, practically wrestling it.

So he was almost pleased when one of his bullets grazed one of the creature’s tentacular feelers, and it’s attention was suddenly, fully devoted to Prompto and making him as dead as quickly as possible. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t as prepared as the others were, because as soon as the thing leapt, Prompto stepped in the one patch of mud in the entire damn desert, slipped, and fell on his ass. And he knew he wasn’t going to get his gun up in time, because it was practically on top of him before he’d even hit the ground, and the only thing he could do was brace for the impact and the pain that was undoubtedly to follow.

Except- it didn’t. A cry, echoed quickly by two others, made Prompto open his eyes that he hadn’t even realized he’d squeezed shut. For there, only inches away from his prone body, Noctis had intercepted the monster. With one deft move, he’d used the cat’s momentum to impale it on his saber, piercing it’s heart and killing it instantly. Though that didn’t stop the creature from sinking it’s vicious, needle-like fangs, claws, and hooked feelers into the Prince’s body. For one terrible instant, it looked like some sort of horrible embrace, two partners in a violent, macabre dance. 

Then, with a movement that seemed to take his entire body, Noctis heaved the thing off him. The tip of his sword trailing in the dust, he almost casually meandered to a nearby rock to perch on it. 

“Nice one, Noct.” Gladio said approvingly, with real admiration in his voice. Prompto wanted nothing more than to thank his friend profusely, but couldn’t quite seem to find his voice as Ignis pulled him up off the ground. Ignis, himself, commenting on the recklessness of both Noctis and Prompto, and swearing it was going to be both of their undoings, and they hadn’t come this far for the Crown Prince to be ravaged by a meager coeurl.

“C’mon, buddy, let’s make tracks.” Gladio said, companionably slapping his ward on the shoulder- did Noct wince just then? Or was it just Prompto’s imagination?- and started gathering up bits and pieces of the animal that could prove useful. Noctis, however, shook his head, face completely blank of expression, and leaned back onto his hands. Prompto could see Ignis honing his attention with a razor sharp focus onto the Prince as he finally caught what Prompto had dreaded.

“Noct, what is it?” His question was so much more of a demand that Gladio immediately stood up from his crouched position next to the couerl, even leaving the knife he’d been using to skin to animal with, to approach the smaller youth. His expression was immediately so serious that it made Prompto’s stomach cramp in fear. 

Once again, however, Noct only shook his head, face tilted back as if to catch the sun- but, there it was again, that spasm of Noctis’ eyebrows, the turning down of the corners of his mouth- and when he finally did speak, his voice was too soft, and it was clear he was fighting to keep it under control.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Gladiolus responded, and even though his voice was almost rough it didn’t disguise the fact that it was tense with the fear Prompto could suddenly feel thrum through Ignis’ body. 

“The cat.” Noctis responded with a strange nonchalance, and then visibly grimaced. “It messed up my back. Can’t stand.” 

The fear in Gladio’s voice became thunderous as his long legs ate up the distance between himself and his charge, dropping down beside Noctis, demanding “What do you mean you can’t stand?” And though Noctis tried weakly to slap Gladio’s hands away, the larger, stronger man made quick work of stripping off Noctis’ jacket and, with surprising gentleness, peeling up his shirt.

What was suddenly revealed made them all hiss, to a person; puncture wounds from the animals’ feelers, teeth, and claws slowly oozed blood, dark bruises forming on the white flesh of his shoulder, the opposite arm, and right above the waistband of his pants, was a cut that had been done so cleanly and sharply that Prompto could see the lips of the wound separate, and the glint of bone beneath.

It wasn’t as if he was the one grievously injured, but Prompto wavered as he felt all the blood rushing from his face at the sight of it. When the fabric of the tight shirt separated from the awful, gaping wound on his back, Noct made a sound like a kicked dog, which Gladio hushed with a surprisingly gentle noise. It was entirely involuntary when Noctis gave a wail as Gladio gently probed the wound; beside him, Prompto felt Ignis jerk as though he’d been electrocuted, and he clutched the older man’s shirt as much to keep himself upright as to comfort Ignis. 

“You’re going to be fine.” Gladio assured Noctis through clenched teeth as he went rooting through his pockets, one hand soothingly cupping Noctis’ neck, before finally only coming up with a potion. He grimaced, but applied the curative directly to Noctis’ back, and quickly pressed Noctis’ face into his shoulder at the scream that tore its way up and out of Noctis’ throat. 

Prompto couldn’t say how long they sat like that; Gladiolus holding Noct’s head to his chest, tucked under his own chin, quietly repeating that Noct was going to be alright. And though his voice was rough, his thumb never ceased the slightly desperate stroke along the nape of Noct’s neck. Noct was still shuddering when Gladiolus half-stood, one huge hand cupping the back of Noct’s head, the other stabilizing his back while he was lain back on the rock. Prompto realized, with a sick little shock, that Noct was actually unconscious and he couldn’t tell if the shuddering was a symptom of shock, or if Noct was having a seizure.

“Noct!” He found himself crying out, and had made to go to his friend’s side when an iron grip curtailed his movement. His attention snapped back to Ignis, and though he looked severe as he always did, Prompto could easily discern the worry in the lines of his brow.

“Go with Gladio to get the car.” Ignis said, with the terseness of taking an emergency into hand. “And we’re going to need to stabilize him with something in order to transport him more safely, so make sure to have the first aid kit ready. I will attend to Noctis.” Prompto couldn’t get his voice in control enough to respond; this was all his fault, and he knew it, but now wasn’t the time to go to pieces. Noct needed him. 

He rushed off, following the hulking form of Gladio disappearing into the shrubline a lot more quickly than Prompto would have given credit to a guy his size. Not for the first time, Prompto found himself fervently wishing for an adult to come and solve their problems- not that Gladio, or especially Ignis, wasn’t as capable. But the thought of seeing someone with experience written on their faces comforted Prompto- it spoke of someone who was successfully an adult. An adultier adult.

 

“Are you freaking serious?” Prompto winced, more from the situation than Gladio’s ire at it. “If something reaches its expiration date, get it off your shelves!” It was a mark of how seriously Gladio took his position as the next Crown Shield that he was losing his temper with the squirming man behind the counter. It wasn’t as if it would have been at all useful without Noctis’s powers being worked upon it, but Prompto knew as well as Gladio that the properties that energized people became medicinal after Noct had gotten his hands on them. Now, it would have been about as good as silty water in a cup. All but hurling the now useless energy drink back onto the counter, Gladio almost simultaneously turned as he extracted his cell phone to call.”Ignis, tell me you have more curative supplies on you.” He barked into his phone as he jumped into the driver’s seat, gesturing impatiently for Prompto to get into the front.

“If I’d had more, don’t you think I would have used them by now?” Came the dry response, audible now because of his proximity to Gladio. “We must get the Prince to safety, then we can sort out the supplies.” Gladio dropped the phone to use both hands to force the Regalia into a nearly 90 degree angle turn, throwing Prompto into the door. 

Noctis still hadn’t regained consciousness when they arrived back at the dense thicket- though being in the company of Gladio meant they were all well used to thistles grazing their legs and embedding their thorns into exposed flesh, biting and stinging insects, and climental damage, Prompto found himself cursing as much as Gladiolus at the briars that tangled their progress back. And even more still when they found Ignis performing chest compressions on Noctis, teeth clenched, eyes sharp and almost feral with fear. Though he didn’t look up or speak, it was clear what was happening- Noctis had already lost too much blood. 

It was as much a guess as the Crownsguard training that suddenly came to mind as Prompto ran forward, dropping onto the other side of Noctis, across from Ignis. “Ignis, clear!” Was all the warning he gave as he reached down, and applied the Thunder spell he’d looped onto his belt directly to Noctis’ chest.

He wasn’t sure if it were Ignis or he that was more surprised it had worked, but he found them both jumping back as Noctis’ eyes flew open as his body convulsed with the electricity, and a gasp as his lungs forced air back into his body. Noctis was coughing, but now very much alive as Gladiolus delivered the folded tent (now doubling as a backboard) to the ground, and, on the count of three, instructed Prompto how to move the Prince with Ignis.

 

A trailer honestly wasn’t where Prompto would have picked to bring back the Crown Prince to nurse him back to health. But barring returning to Insomnia for a hospitals and doctors, field medicine seemed all they were likely to be able to manage in this state. But things were starting to look up when they pulled into the parking lot where the trailer they’d rented was; Cor was standing in the light streaming out from the open door and windows of their lodgings, hanging up an apparent phone call with a grim look on his face as he stared directly through the windshield. Prompto, crouching in the back to make sure Noctis didn’t slide around in their pel mel dash back to civilization, thought he would have hated to be Ignis or Gladiolus right then. But no recriminations were spoken, or much at all, really, as Cor swiftly approached the back, asking in a brisk voice,

“How long’s he been like this?” Ignis, opening doors and finding their stash of potions and whatnot, allowed Gladio to answer.

“A few hours. Coeurl attack, out of the blue. Something hinky about it.” Cor jerked his head to indicate that Gladio should proceed him inside. 

“We’re not carrying the Royal Prince in on a backboard. If word got around, the Empire would be descending on us in full force to kidnap the only remaining Heir to Insomnia.” Gladio was too well trained for insubordination, but he winced as Cor grasped Noctis by the wrists with one hand and pulled Noctis into a sitting position. Then, crouching next to the car and scooping the limp youth off the seat and onto his hip. It seemed a suspiciously familiar situation for the man to be in, because he seemed to know to reach up as the Prince folded bonelessly into his side and cup the boy’s head so it didn’t loll. With one arm wrapped under Noctis’s hips, his other hand supporting Noctis’s head, and Noctis’s legs straddling his hip, it looked to all intents and purposes that Cor was holding him like he would a child.

Prompto wasn’t weak or anything, but he didn’t think he could manage Noctis’s limbs gangling around him like that and still maneuver through a doorway, much less without smacking something against the frame. Cor managed to do this effortlessly, all the while still holding Noct like he was five instead of twenty. Or deposit Noctis on the caravan bed, first setting the boy so he was sitting upright, then using one arm to sweep his legs up onto the bed in one smooth, professionally efficient movement and tip him onto his front. 

Prompto was wondering if he should say anything when Cor began unhesitatingly to undress the Prince. He gave a nervous chuckle, eyes flicking to Gladio (who was watching on with a smouldering sobriety) and Ignis (whose stricken demeanor did nothing to correspond with his silence and tightly folded arms) before going back to land on Cor again. It finally occurred to him what Cor reminded him of- a cross somewhere between a medical professional, like a Healer or Assistant Healer, and a military commander performing battlefield triage. And also maybe a nanny to be confusingly thrown into the mix.

When Noctis’s back was once again uncovered, there was a collective shifting in the confines of the small caravan. Prompto could feel Ignis and Gladio holding collective breaths as Cor carefully examined the wound. “It’s not severe.” He finally pronounced, deep voice a low rumble. Prompto felt himself exhale the breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding along with Ignis and Gladio. He thought he may just cry from relief as Cor extracted a variety of bottles from the bag he’d apparently brought into the trailer before they arrived. 

Unlike Noctis, who favored the flavors, convenience, and additives in commercially available energy drinks, the late King had crafted his curatives by hand. They came in the form of teas, tinctures, and nectars, and were stronger than Noctis’s by a good margin. One dose of a potion could revive someone who’d passed out, and a high potion could correspondingly bring them to full health and awareness. It worked even better on the royal line, for whom the magic was innate. So when Cor gently uncorked one of the glass bottles and began carefully drizzling the contents over the now puckered wound, it was no surprise when Noctis gasped, his entire body tensing as he was thrown back into wakefulness. 

No matter how undignified the situation, Noctis always managed to be cool and composed, so despite his audible wincing into the pillow, he didn’t slip past that. “You might have warned me.” Was his growled reprimand into the comforter. 

“Apologies, Highness. You were out cold.” Cor rejoined implacably, though a small smile had formed in his eyes and on his lips.

“I was just resting my eyes.” Was Noctis’s casual rebuttal as he turned his head and considered the presence of Cor, and then just went along with it as if he’d expected it, his eyes flicking around the rest of the small space to the rest of his retinue. “You’re alright.” There was an unmistakable note of relief in his voice, as if they were the ones who had just been wrested from the grips of death. “Thank the Six.”

Prompto, never one for the decorum and emotional control those who had grown up around the Lucii had, burst into tears. He was an ugly crier, he knew, but sometimes the situation just warranted an unabashed display of exactly how you felt. Cor made a warning grunt when he hit the floor on his knees beside the man, reaching out to grasp the hand laying near Noctis’s face.

“Quit it.’ Noctis reprimanded gently, but his tone was light and teasing. “You’re gonna get snot all over my back, do you wanna give Specs a heart attack? Plague carrier.” The joking allusion to Prompto’s proclivity of getting sick for one reason or another made him burst into a laugh, even while he still cried.

“I’m-- just---so glad--- you’re okay!” Prompto exclaimed in between shuddering intakes of breath. 

“Of course I’m okay. I couldn’t live with myself if I left Gladdy and Specs to deal with you alone.” Prompto laughed again, still crying, and rested his head next to Noctis’s, trying to control his erratic breathing. It lasted only a moment, however, as the Marshal took Prompto by the shoulders and moved him away from the bed again. Prompto would have protested if he hadn’t been trying to regain his faculties, Ignis hadn’t pulled him up off the cheaply carpeted floor with a cluck of his tongue, or he realized Cor was going to try to get Noctis up. And because he couldn’t coherently speak, but he could look meaningfully at Ignis, he gazed at the older youth, breath still hitching, and Ignis caught on.

“Is it already safe to move him, Marshal?” Ignis’s voice interjected Cor’s actions smoothly. Cor looked up from where he was crouching, one hand clasping Noctis’s hand, the other supporting his back. 

“If it’s not going to be now, it’s going to be never.” He responded tersely, and went back to murmuring instructions to Noctis. Prompto thought he’d start crying again when Noctis emitted a nearly inhuman sound of pain as he was drawn back into a sitting position. It spoke volumes to how upsetting it was for the other two that Ignis reached up under his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, and Prompto was almost certain he could hear Gladio as he gritted his teeth. For Gladio to be unable to hurt the thing that was hurting the Prince, and Ignis being unable to mother his ward obviously made them feel as helpless as Prompto.

But Noctis’s face was drawn back into a semblance of composure when he did finally manage to sit up, arms reaching up to clasp Cor by the forearms as Cor held his elbows. “Are you ready, your Highness?” The man murmured gently, though he may as well have been shouting in the closed interior. “We’re going to stand you up.” Noctis’s lips had drawn together in a thin, displeased line, but using Cor as leverage, managed to shakily haul his way to his feet.

In the next half hour, Cor assisted Noctis through what seemed to be exceedingly familiar (and equally detested) physical therapy exercises. He occasionally murmured an instruction to the Prince (“Don’t lean on me, Highness, you have to do this yourself. I’m only here for support.” and then, when Noctis’s face had fixed into the grimace he’d been trying to avoid making, “Focus on what you’re doing, not the pain.”) as Noctis went from walking heel to toe, bending side to side at the waist, twisting back and forth gently. 

Noctis gave an explosive exhalation, the closest he had come to a sob, as Cor lead him down into a reach for his toes. A guttural sound of pain so involuntary issued from him that Prompto felt his skin raise in goosebumps, and Cor carefully drew him back upright, allowing him to sit once more on the bed. It shouldn’t have been surprising that Noctis was slicked in a sheen of sweat, but Prompto found himself biting his lips as Noctis started to shiver, in pain or in cold. In another disturbingly impressive display of domestic dexterity, Cor stripped back the comforter and sheets of the bed, and then maneuvered the Prince underneath them, deftly cupping Noctis’s neck to tip him back, and then using his unoccupied hand to sweep his legs under the covers. He drew the bedclothes up over Noctis, and turned to regard the three other boys in the caravan.

“In the next few days,” He began issuing instructions so suddenly that Prompto wasn’t aware he should be paying attention until Cor was halfway through his first statement. “You’re going to need to put the Prince through his usual therapeutic exercises.” It seemed unnecessary for him to ask Ignis if he knew what the Marshal was referring to, or could remember them. Ignis gave him as close to a withering look as proper decorum allowed, and responded with a short,

“Naturally.” Cor turned then to Gladio, who still looked like he was going to punch a hole in the camper wall.

“Don’t push him too hard in training when he does recover for a couple of weeks. His body needs time to mend the injuries he sustained so they don’t become permanent like his old ones. In the meantime, go out and find some Asphodel flowers. I’ll leave you a recipe for a liniment that you can apply to His Majesty’s back to aid the healing process. His Highness can apply his magic to the ointment to make it more effective.” He directed his gaze last on Prompto. “I don’t believe I really need to say this, but I will nonetheless; His Highness will need to be kept in good spirits. He will often feel discouraged and be unmotivated to get better--”

“I will not.” Noctis sleepily interjected, his voice vaguely offended.

“--from the amount of pain he’s going to be in. I ask that you remain patient with him and encourage him to do better. Use any means necessary.” Prompto nodded, even though finding that last dictate vaguely ominous, and Cor swept his eyes about the room to regard them all. “I’ll return in a week to mark his progress. Now, then.” He turned, gave a curt bow to Noctis, hand to his heart. “By your leave, Highness.” And he was out the door and down the three short retractable steps before any of them had a chance to respond. In his absence, a long silence ensued. 

“Guess this means you can’t be slacking off anymore if the head of Crownsguard is gonna be dropping by.” Gladio rumbled from where he leaned against the camper wall, but his expression was still clouded. 

“Yeah, Prompto, stop slacking off.” Noctis quipped from the bed. It was so unexpected, so normal, that Prompto felt himself burst into laughter before he could stop himself. It was probably a testament of how exhausted they all were that Ignis snorted and silently shook with laughter, and Gladio gave a guffaw before chewing on knuckle to stifle his laughter. 

“Bro!” Prompto protested when he had the breath to speak again, looking up from his hands back to the bed. At first, a small sliver of panic shot cold through his spine before he realized what he was seeing. Noctis, face turned toward them, had fallen asleep with a small half smile on his face. If, after all that, Noctis had still managed to keep his sense of humor, Prompto figured they were going to be alright.


	2. Panic at the Disco(ntinuous Party)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto has never been to one of these fancy parties, and even though he’s pretty sure Noct has, he’s also pretty sure it looks like Noct is having a panic attack.

Noctis was constantly surrounded by people. It seemed to come part and parcel as the Prince of Lucis, whether it be by diplomats and envoys from Tenebrae or the Empire, his classmates, or the volunteers from the animal shelter he worked at. Noctis’s life was full of people interacting with him as his of Prince. The fact that he seemed so natural at interacting with these people, always so cool and composed, incited the smallest flicker of jealousy in Prompto’s secretly introverted self. Sure he was chipper, upbeat, and congenitally optimistic- he’d even been called hyper numerous times. But the thought of being under the scrutiny of so many people made his heart quail. Noctis seemed so much more adult than his agemates in these times, participating in political discussions, even taking part in lawmaking and campaign efforts; he stayed up long nights going over applications and forms, determining which ones he felt would be suitable to pass along. 

So Prompto would never have suspected what was currently happening to Noct in front of him. Noctis’s expression was one of his usual casual detachment of his surroundings, one hand tucked into a trouser pocket, head tilted to the side, leaning on one leg. But Prompto could see the pulse beating in Noct’s neck, hard and fast as a hummingbird’s wings, his nostrils flaring as he fought to take in enough oxygen, his eyes (tactically hidden by his hair as they were) were wide and tight at the edges. 

Noctis was having a panic attack. Because he was being surrounded by a press of people, all of whose attention were directed at him. 

Prompto couldn’t have been the only one who caught it, he thought as he glanced around, looking for Ignis, Gladiolus, or (hades) even the King himself. Ignis, normally shadowing Noct like an extremely well-dressed shadow, was half the room away where he was squinting suspiciously at the gaggle of people. Gladiolus was nowhere to be seen, though Prompto was certain he could hear the older youth’s booming voice coming from outside somewhere (probably on guard duty), and the King…Well, it was honestly a little ludicrous to rely on someone so prestigious to save them from such a normal predicament, regardless if Noctis was his son.

But Noct’s eyes were flickering now, and Prompto could tell he wasn’t actually seeing anything anymore, just a blinding white of panic. And Prompto knew deep to his very core that it was irresponsible to rely on anyone else when he was the one with Noct right now. He had been inducted as a member of the Crownsguard, and as Common as his heritage was, Prompto had Noct’s best interests at heart not because he was the Prince of their country, but because he was Prompto’s best friend.

So before he really realized what he was doing, he reached out, hooking a finger through the last two digits poking out of Noctis’s right pocket. Noctis’s eyes darted to him, locked on, and the urgency of his need struck Prompto like a blow. He gave a small smile and tugged Noctis’s hand out of his pocket to clasp it firmly. It wasn’t obvious what they were doing. In the press of bodies around him, hardly anyone would have noticed Prompto was holding the Prince’s hand. But, Prompto thought, it really hardly mattered, anyway. Because the blood he felt thrumming through Noctis’s wrist beneath his fingertips seemed to abate ever so slightly, his breathing slightly less ragged. And then Prompto promptly remembered the ear radio he’d been outfitted with for the party, that he hadn’t turned it on, and did so surprisingly discreetly for realizing he’d been fucking the dog (as Gladio had elegantly put it) the whole night.

“Heya do you think we can get an evac for Noct?” He asked casually, hoping he wasn’t about to shout ‘fire!’ in a crowded theater. 

“We’re going over proper radio protocol when this is over, Prompto.” Came Ignis’s voice in his ear immediately. It was kind of like having that annoying little faery in the video game embedded in your head, come to think of it. “What’s the situation?”

“His Highness is gettin’ a little wiggy. Y’know. Too many people wanting to suck every last drop of glamor out of his blood. He’s gettin’ freaked out. Normal people stuff.” He could actually see Ignis rolling his eyes at Prompto’s brevity, but he responded immediately.

“Affirmative. Extraction to commence shortly. Stay where you are with the Prince. We’ll come and fetch you.” And Ignis went silent, extracting his cellphone from his breast pocket and started to make calls. Prompto really wished he knew who Ignis was corralling for this particular shanghai when he realized Noctis was watching him steadily from the corner of his eye.

“Hey!” Prompto burbled, turning back to smile at his friend. “Dude are these kicks crammed or what? I think I’m gonna osmose with the people around me, its so packed!” Noct stared at him for a second longer, as if trying to discern what drugs Prompto was currently on, before he gave a snort of laughter. Prompto was just beginning to think he was turning the tide against Noctis’s panic attack when a sudden flash of light inches away from Noctis blinded them both. 

“Prince!” A voice grated only a foot away. “What are your thoughts on the charity dinner being hosted in your honor tonight?” This person was clearly more comfortable at press briefings, because their voice was a bray above the genteel but audible murmur of people around them.”You’ve been a staunch proponent of food drives, and have even advocated for new legislation for support of hungry children in Insomnia, the Duscae, and Cleigne regions. Since a majority of this food being served is going to be thrown out tonight, how does that make you feel?”

Prompto turned to look at the woman, aghast. What a cold-hearted harpy! She’d probably been waiting, lurking at the edges of the room to strike when she saw the Prince at his most vulnerable. She wasn’t clearly harming Noctis, who Prompto would have expected to shrink away from this, but when he looked back to Noctis, his face was locked into one of the coldest expressions Prompto had ever seen him wear.

“You might wanna fact check a little more before you come crashing a charity drive.” He replied so acridly that Prompto wasn’t surprised to see the girl shrink back a bit, the wind having been effectively taken from her sails. “This isn’t a dinner, and we aren’t serving food here. The food being made is going out to orphanages and halfway houses around Insomnia. The people here ordering said food are kindly donating their time and money to plan out the next six months of food for the people who rely on boxes from the food pantry.”

Prompto would have laughed at the woman’s expression had he also not been so startled by the wealth of information Noctis was bestowing on them. “There’s also a concurrent fund drive happening the next dinner room over for animal shelters and adoption agencies to provide enough supplies to make it so they can be no-kill zones. I mean, if you want to accuse me of throwing bags of cat and dog food into the street and then laugh at the strays.” She looked most unnattractively like a fish, Prompto decided, standing there with her mouth gaping open, moving slightly as she tried to form a rebuttal to Noctis’s stinging barrage.

“I believe.” A deep voice intoned from behind Prompto, as the King of Insomnia himself, issued forth from the darkness. “Prince Noctis has had enough in the way of questions this night. Unless thou art insufficiently informed, in which case We may make congress with thyself.” The woman’s eyes had gone huge, and Prompto assumed she wasn’t excited about hammering the King with questions. Especially as he was wrapping an arm around his child’s shoulders, leading Noctis (and Prompto, since they were still connected by linked pinkie fingers) away to a contingency of Crownsguard who had assembled at the front of the room. 

King Regis unhurriedly began fussing over Noctis, straightening the boy’s tie, lapels, and extracting a handkerchief to wipe at a smudge of mechanical lubricant off his son’s eyebrow. Prompto could feel Noctis dying a little inside as a flurry of camera flashes lit up around them, like a snowstorm of curiosity, capturing an intimate moment for the entire nation to see. Nevertheless, this was probably the most relaxed Prompto had seen Noctis as of yet this entire night. 

“If the Crownsguard would be so kind, could you see to it that Prince Noctis is delivered safely to the animal shelter efforts in yon ballroom, and then to his apartments at the Citadel.” Regis at last intoned, before leaning forward and bequeathing a kiss to his son. 

“Dad.” Noctis grumbled, though he was obviously pleased with the show of affection. With one last heartening squeeze of his son’s shoulders, Regis turned back to the crowd, Clarus materializing from the throng of onlookers nearby. Watching them leave, a myriad of emotions swirling through his thoughts, Prompto didn’t realize when Gladio took Noctis by the shoulders and started leading him away. But the Prince kept a firm grip on his friend so he wouldn’t get swept off in the crowd, and soon Prompto was being tugged along. Ignis was quickly approaching from behind, clapping a hand on Prompto’s shoulder as well to propel him forward. 

“Regardless of improper communications technique, you did well.” He said, quietly and simply, bending to speak into Prompto’s ear. “Congratulations- I suppose you really are a Crownsguard.” 

Prompto wasn’t exactly sure what it was- maybe the fact he was strolling about with his best friend in some fancy party, or maybe it was the feeling he had found a place where he really mattered in the world. But he left the hall grinning ear to ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys I’m apparently obsessed with putting Noctis through uncomfortable situations plz send halp


	3. and in the half light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hunt doesn't go as planned. The boys get to see some even more unusual behavior from daemons. Chaos all around, and the remainder of the party tries to piece things back together. (or my torture of Noctis continues, but everybody gets their fair share of whump in this)

Prompto grit his teeth at the scene unfolding before him; it had supposed to just be a simple hunt. Squash out some goblins, no big deal. Right? No. Horribly, terribly wrong. Because what was supposed to be just a handful of goblins rapidly evolved into a pair of Red Giants, attracted by the sounds of pain and strife, and they’d just thought they’d escaped the mess of daemons (dead though they may be) and into the safe embrace of the woods when the saw the warmly glowing glyphs of the Haven. When a figure glided forth out of the heady darkness, completely eldritch and alien. What, at first glance, appeared to be a mantle to the unknowing eye, was a mantle of pulsing, tentacled flesh, waiting to wrap itself around it’s hapless prey. A maw wriggling with feelers chuckled in a disconcertingly human noise, and then growled, as long, thin fingers stretched out to grasp at the neck of its closest victim.

Prompto had felt a chill run up his spine, as he’d been first to catch sight of the awful thing; he’d just glanced up to gauge the distance between them and the Haven when it had intercepted them. His warring cry of revulsion and terror was more than enough to alert Noctis into forming a weapon and strike out, seemingly blindly. It wasn’t surprising that he’d hit, but more in the certainty that whatever had made his friend shriek like that clearly needed to die (what if it was just a bug or something? Prompto found himself wondering detachedly), and with that, the four were once again in motion.

Feet away from the Haven though it seemed, even more mindflayers appeared, hungry for the chaos and mayhem. With the help of Noctis, Gladio dispatched the first to arrive, and Ignis cooly disposed of the second, immobilizing the third for Prompto to make the critical shot.

 

The fourth one, no-one had been prepared for.

 

So when it materialized out of the pine-scented darkness, Gladio had been working a kink out of his neck, Ignis had dropped back to one leg and tilted his head back to collect himself, and Noct had all but flopped onto the ground to catch his breath. And even on edge as he had been from the events, Prompto found himself noticing too late when the thing’s mantle shot out to envelop his friend, and he was wrapped tightly in it appendages when he cried out for a second time that night.

“No---ct!” It all seemed to happen horribly slowly; Noctis seemed to be the only one moving at normal speed, hands struggling with the mass of flesh obscuring his airways, sending crushing kicks into the thing. Which wasn’t deterred in the slightest. Being the last of what had apparently been a hunting party, it had deemed itself the victor and the winner of the spoils.   


Prompto watched as it did something he’d never witnessed a mindflayer do, and fervently hoped to never again. Having immobilized Noctis acceptably, it pulled the now limp youth in front of it and seemed to gaze upon Noctis in relish. Drawing ailing boy closer, its tentacled maw open, feelers reaching out in anticipation. And slipped into the skin of Noctis’s face.

At this point, Prompto liked to think they were all pretty much inured to what the big, beautiful, and often creepy world had to throw at them. But this was just gross beyond all words, and he was shamefully grateful when, screaming his liege’s name, Ignis bifurcated the creature in one, panicked blow. Prompto was too busy evacuating the contents of his stomach on the remnants of another mindflayer to notice what happened immediately after that.

But he felt a new wave of nausea when he looked up to see Ignis trying to dislodge Noctis from the thing’s grip, which proved initially fruitless. The thing held his skull fast in the clutches of its tentacles. He was pretty sure he saw them writhe under the skin, actually, fervently hoping his panicked mind was playing tricks on him. When they were finally withdrawn, dripping with some unnamable lubrication, was when Noctis, who had lost consciousness in the interim, woke again, flailing. A scream, more animal than human, tore its way from his throat, piercing the heavy air like a silver lance of pure fear.

Unable to keep a hold on his struggling charge without injuring him further, Ignis let go immediately. Noctis was apparently too frantic to even remember that he could warp his way to safety, or that he had several arms at his disposal that he could use to dispatch whatever he thought was threating him. Slipping and falling in his haste, Noctis tried to put as much distance between himself and his advisor as was humanly possible.

“Noctis, you’re safe! They’re dead now, nothing is going to hurt you!” He pleaded, and Prompto found himself tearing up at the sheer pain in Ignis’s voice and expression. Gladio, apparently having no such qualms, leapt on Noctis who had been skittering away backwards on his hands and heels. In response to the sudden assault, Noctis retaliated with a furious onslaught. But it wasn’t focused- it held none of the precise maneuvers he’d dedicated half his life to learning. It was sheer panic, strength from adrenaline, and though it seemed initially successful, Gladio quickly recovered from the shock.

From where he had been crouching, Prompto could see it all too clearly- Noctis landed a blow on Gladio’s cheekbone with his elbow, causing the larger youth to fall back, releasing his hold on Noctis just enough for the afflicted to scrabble desperately at the rock plateau before him. Only when Gladio leaned forward to put Noctis in an immobilizing hold, flattening him into the stone of the Haven, and eliciting a defeated little mewl from him, was finally when Noctis stopped struggling.

“Noct, get it together!” He gritted out, less than an inch from Noctis’s ear, teeth bared in the effort of keeping his lord in a full-body bind. It looked like an extremely punishing position to be held in. Prompto winced, already envisioning the bruises flourishing there. Seemingly overwhelmed by the entire situation, Noctis keened. His frame was suddenly unresisting, like an animal already having given up and accepted its impending death. Unable to see Gladio at his back, he was only aware that he was once again unable to move of his own volition.

“Please…” The guttural moan finally formed into words for the first time. “Please don’t hurt me, please just kill me, please just sto-op.” and quickly became a litany that made Prompto’s blood run cold. Never, in his life knowing Noctis, had he heard such despair, or even imagined it was within Noctis to simply give up and die. When Gladio, stunned, released his grip on the smaller youth, and sat back, staring with what Prompto imagined was a mirror of his own face, Noct remained half atop Gladio, a quiet, despairing wail rising and falling from his clenched jaw. Instead of losing intensity the way hard bouts of weeping usually did after some time, it only picked up momentum until there was definitely a bit of a scream to the wail.

Prompto had never heard such pain. Never in his whole life. And hearing it from his best friend had tears building up and falling in fat blobs down his face, which he was aware was contorting, and his entire frame hitched as he took in an involuntary breath.  Prompto knew he wasn’t a pretty crier, but he honestly couldn’t help it. As he approached, unable to keep himself from going to his friend, he could see more clearly the damage that had been wrought on Noctis in the last ten minutes.

Aside for the purpling bruises on his hairline and jaw from the mindflayer’s suckers, Noctis’s lower lip had been split, and his nose was freely flowing blood down his chin, neck, and darkening the black of his shirt. The skin on his knees had been scraped away, leaving raw, slightly bloody flesh behind. In his desperation to get away, he’d entirely broken off the nails on several of his fingers, leaving only the bloody beds exposed.

“Get off him!” Prompto’s own cry seemed to be so raw and primal that he didn’t recognize it as his own voice.  Both Gladio and Ignis jumped to hear it. But his certainty remained the same as he ran forward the last few feet and managed to topple a startled Gladio away the prone form of Noctis. He dropped to his knees, eyes leaking with sympathetic tears, beside his shuddering best friend, and reached forward, gently grabbing around Noctis’s waist. Even more surprising was that Noctis didn’t fight when he was dragged into Prompto’s lap. In fact, he half turned, one hand with its few remaining nails wavering inches from Prompto’s face.

And, for some reason, he seemed to recognize Prompto. For he dove forward, with the desperation of a drowning man, arms wrapping around his friend’s waist, and sobbing with the kind of horrified fear Prompto had only heard from survivors in horror movies. “Prompto! They got them! They got Ignis and Gladio, oh Gods!”

Without an idea of what to say, Prompto just stroked the back of Noctis’s hair, biting back his own wave of tears. “…I know, buddy.” Was the only thing he could eventually think to say, and held Noctis tighter as his sobs elongated, drawn forth from the very depths of his soul. “But I think they’ll be back soon. It’ll be okay. We won’t be alone…” Here, Prompto was unable to keep a sob, as real and frightened as Noctis’s from leaving his throat. He buried his face into the top of his friend’s head, unable to finish, and began to slowly, carefully, rock them both back and forth.

 

Eventually, their tide of grief wore them out. Prompto sat, still holding Noctis in his arms, still rocking them in the same desperately soothing motion. Noctis’s tears had dried, but the expression of utter defeat on his face coupled with the purpling lip and contact bruises had Prompto’s eyes still watering. “It’s… it’s really gonna be okay, buddy.” He assured Noctis gently, gathering his friend further into his arms. When Noctis’s head lolled limply on his shoulders, coming to a rest against Prompto’s neck was when Prompto found himself looking up, terror-stricken at the other two youths crouching in the haven, just out of the ring of shadows surrounding them.

He didn’t want to risk moving and either hurting Noctis or provoking another downward spiraling panic attack. The meaning in his look must have been fairly apparent, because Ignis, much as Prompto had been only minutes before, was no longer able to keep himself from going to Noctis’s side.

Ever so gently, he smoothed back the hair from Noctis’s face with an open palmed gesture. His expression was so concerned, so tender, and so afraid it made Prompto want to cry all over again. He could see it in his minds eye now, just wailing and clutching his best friend’s lifeless body. It didn’t help that Noct looked so young and vulnerable with Ignis’s hand easily cupping the delicate curve of Noctis’s head.

“He’s alright.” Ignis breathed at last, his voice barely above a trembling whisper. His eyes, already that marvelous green, seemed to glow in the half light, fever bright. And because he was Ignis, he continued in a low, hurried and harried voice.

“He’s lost consciousness, but we’re going to try to treat him immediately. We don’t want to trigger a further shock to his system, since we don’t know what kind of attack has incapacitated him. So, we’re going to treat his superficial wounds and hope that it brings Noct around.” Here, he glanced up, past Prompto’s shoulder and presumably to Gladio, who moved to the huddled group as silently as a creeping shadow. He seemed to know without needing to verbalize for clarification what it was exactly that Ignis wanted, because he began producing an array of flasks from the armory.

Within a few minutes, they managed to get Noctis to open his eyes. He shifted, slightly weakly and discoordinated, small noises escaping him. He seemed to be trying to gather his scattered thoughts, and he seemed to further recognize Ignis’s face and Gladio’s hand on his back as nonthreatening. A small breath of almost contentment, or perhaps simply relief, huffed out from him before his eyes fluttered shut again.

Gladio eventually did pitch the tent, and Ignis put together something from their pantry, albeit in a slightly shaken manner. Noctis didn’t awaken the entire time, and neither did Prompto leave his side. It was only when Noctis gave an abbreviated and entirely recognizable snort that Prompto finally allowed himself to breathe, and then smile. It meant he was falling into deep sleep.

When he looked up, he caught Ignis and Gladio wearing presumably the same expression he was. For now, that bright star in what felt like an endless night still hadn’t gone out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm super late on this chapter because I started writing about a dozen fics with no idea how to end them)
> 
> If anyone has requests or would like to see me write about a certain scenario, just shoot me a PM!


	4. cave mooglepocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio uses his years of training as a member of the Crownsguard and Shield to protect his most precious asset- his sister- from heartbreak.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing.” The sentence is growled about half a foot from Noctis’s ear, after a large, strong, and surprisingly… fuzzy (?) hand clamps down onto his shoulder. He recognizes the voice, because of course he’s familiar with the voice of his own Shield. Encased in a bright pink moogle head, his glowering eyes piercing through the thing’s mouth though he was. It would almost have been funny. No, scratch that, it _was_ funny; funny as Ifrit’s balls, in fact, but that didn’t prevent the fact that it was also a little terrifying.

The whole night, he’d been getting a strangely ominous feeling, like someone with concealed bloodlust was watching him from every corner. But the idea was ludicrous, surrounded by brightly colored character costumes, arcade games, and the scents of foods he could just _feel_ Ignis having an aneurism knowing Noct ate them. The ring of happy voices, raised in laughter or triumph as games were won or lost, new discoveries made, new records broken. Everyone doing nothing more than attending their own business.

It was the grand opening of the new arcade in the Citadel Station shopping mall, and Iris had, quite unexpectedly, begged for Noctis to take her. He had agreed, perplexed, since it was something he normally would have done with Prompto, but upon hearing Noctis’s conundrum he’d (also uncharacteristically) muffled a smile. He’d expected Prompto to be at least a _little_ upset when he’d broken the news, but when the boy had urged him for what felt like the hundredth time, Noctis finally caved.

Looking at the crowd, it wasn’t like he and Iris belonged here, anyway, because apparently they were having some sort of couples night promotion. Giggling girls clung to their dates’ arms as they exchanged tickets for tokens, won gigantic stuffed toys, and slurped shared drinks. Being here with someone who was, to all intents and purposes, his sister felt incredibly awkward. It didn’t matter if Iris did hang onto his arm and whine in that horribly endearing way like the other girls did, or she demanded to share a soda and hotdog together. If it made her happy, he guessed he was good with that. He won her the largest stuffed moogle in a shooting game, which she nearly lost her mind over. He got onto one of the stupid “rocket” rides and allowed Iris to cling to his back, arms wrapped firmly around his torso, giggling hysterically as it slowly bucked underneath them.

Okay, well, it wasn’t like he _wasn’t_ having a good time. A few times an unrestrained guffaw escaped him, and the two ended up dissolving into even more laughter, feeding off the other’s reaction. It was how he’d managed to avoid the unsettling feeling the whole night, and it was only until it was reaching nearly ten o clock that it had finally happened.

Iris had excused herself to go use the bathrooms, skipping off to the back of the glowing arcade, when Noctis realized one of the oversized character costumes bearing down on him ominously. His brain was frantically trying to decide whether or not to try to incapacitate it over its menacing demeanor when it had spoken in an unexpectedly gravelly voice.

Now, Noctis was laughing.

Because he couldn’t _not_ laugh in this situation. In fact, he was now laughing so hard there were tears rolling down his cheeks and he couldn’t get his breath.

Gladiolus Amicitia.

Shield to the next King of Lucis, the Chosen of the Light, Savior to the Star,

Was glowering out of a gigantic, bright fuchsia, irresistibly round and soft cave moogle.

Noctis didn’t even care _why_ he was in the moogle at this point. Just the fact that he was in it meant Noct could die a happy man, knowing this had occurred. If Niflheim bombed them right then and there, newspapers would be reporting that His Highness was found dead with a smile on his face.

“I don’t see what’s so fucking funny about this.” Gladio snarled, in much the same timbre an angry dog would adopt, or if Noctis intentionally skipped leg day. “Iris is supposed to be here on a _date_ , and she happens to be with _you_ , to which the only logical conclusion is that I’m going to have to suplex you into this nasty ass carpet.” Noctis, who had managed to pull himself together into watery chuckles, once again began to snort with laughter.

“So… what, your super spec-ops training taught you to be covert on a mission so your idea is to climb into some unsuspecting moogle? ” Gladio was still unamused.

“This is my little sister’s very first date, and not only did he apparently no show, she’s stuck with Prince Clueless over here who can’t tell his ass from a--.”

“Dude! Calm your kupo nuts down, I swear I’m not here on a date with your sister! She asked me to bring her, and Prompto didn’t wanna go, so we… just…” Noctis trailed off, feeling as though he were missing something. Amusing as Gladio’s furious (and fluffy) misinterpretation was, if Iris was getting stood up she was taking it marvelously well. Finally, his lips thinned, and he scrubbed the back of his head with a hand. Because now it didn’t matter if they were on a date or not- Noctis knew he was duty-bound to take care of this sweet, caring girl, idiot dates and brothers bedamned.

And, with a clarion little warble of his name, it appeared that Iris was returning. Weren’t girls supposed to take forever in the bathroom? That had been, like, less than a minute! As if he’d been preparing for this contingency, Gladio shoved the miniature stuffed moogle he’d been toting into Noctis’s hands (with a gravelly ‘kupo!’) and lumbered hurriedly away.

Noctis did his best to distract Iris from the unusual scene, and that he was shaking with suppressed laughter, by offering her the palm-sized toy. Glowing, all appearances of bulky and ominous cave moogles forgotten, Iris accepted it. Then, taking him by the hand, gushed about the restaurant she and Gladi went to the other weekend just on the other side of the station. Allowing himself to be dragged along behind her, Noctis couldn’t help another fit of giggles as he watched the massive cave moogle unsuccessfully covertly shadow them, unable to resist wondering what Gladio was going to appear as next time they saw him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> XD sorry not sorry for shitposting I just had to do it!!!


	5. And that was how the King was accidentally poisoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slice of life drabble pre-game, probably somewhere around Brotherhood. The kitchens decide they want to go exotic with what they serve that night.

Noctis realizes he’s been staring at the bowl of what is presumably soup in front of him for a bit too long when he sees Ignis push up his glasses. The flash of light off them is what attracts his attention, and he feels a little bad, but not because Ignis made this, because he didn’t. Anything Ignis makes resembles food, even if it’s packed with enough vegetables to kill a dualhorn. This… honestly, Noctis wasn’t sure what it is. He can identify rice particles in a viscous fluid in which chunks of slimy white meat are suspended. It doesn’t help that the fluid is green and cold. He’s beginning to think someone is playing a trick on him before he glances around the table and notices his father eating it impassively. Ignis and Gladio had been invited to join them for dinner on the merit that they’d been training with Noctis all day and hadn’t had any time to eat.

Noctis thinks whatever this is looks rather like something large sneezed into his bowl. “Um.” He says, and he’s aware his voice is very small and he hates it. “What is this?”

“Turtle in a rice congee, if it pleases Your Highness.” A supercilious voice intones inches from his ear. Gladio shifts, his spoon dropping into his bowl, and his back straightens. He’s glaring daggers at whoever is nuzzling Noctis’s neck, and this murderous look alone is enough to drive whoever it is back to a more respectable distance. Well, no Noctis really did _not_ please, but now his dad had his attention on Noctis, and he felt like nothing more than a sulky twelve year old.

Gods. If only Prompto was here now, he’d be laughing his ass off and making jokes about not needing to make use of the _whole_ animal, he’s pretty sure it isn’t necessary to eat the snot. He dips his soup spoon back into the goopy mess and tries to suppress a shudder when he lifts it and a chunk of apparently turtle falls off and then is suspended from the sticky mess.

_Notgonnapukenotgonnapukenotgonnapuke_

He guides the spoon to his mouth and closes his lips around it, bracing himself for what will undoubtedly be an awful experience. Though the texture is just as horrifying as he imagined it to be (kind of like eating raw eggs with a fork), it tastes pretty much like what a congee is supposed to. He manages to swallow the mouthful mostly whole, and then chokes and gags.

The sound triggers Gladio, who is nothing if not an empathetic man to his future king, and an instant after Noct manages to quell his gag reflex, he can hear Gladio fighting to do the same. Well, apparently not _everyone_ is used to turtle in congee. Through a haze of tears the strain of the heave brought on, he can see Gladio has pushed back his chair, one hand pressing into his stomach, the knuckles of the other brought to his lips.

It’s almost kind of funny because this was how late-night puking marathons were born when the two were younger and had given each other the same gastrointestinal virus. Ignis now, as he was then, was unamused.

“Smile, Noctis.” He directs, and Noct dutifully sits up straight in his chair and lifts the corners of his mouth. The urge to vomit subsides, and he looks over to the now completely mortified butler.

“Tastes great, thanks. If we need anything else, I’ll make sure to find you.” Yeah, maybe it’s bad manners to dismiss someone in his father’s presence, but if he has to choke down this soup then he’s going to do it in relative privacy.

Regis, anyways, seems to understand.

“Oh, thank the Astrals.” He sighs, resting his forearms on the table to brace himself. “If I had to spit any more of that swill into my napkin, it would have started leaking through.” He deposited his sodden napkin onto the table with some distaste. Noctis snorted with laughter, but Gladio continued pushing the morsels about in his shallow bowl with a strained expression.

“Someone ought to tell the kitchens that you can’t eat the turtles you catch in Crestholm.” He muttered. Ignis, slowly and deliberately, turned his head towards his contemporary.

“Explain.” He said, but the tone in his voice seemed to already know.

And so, Gladio let them know that trappers were starting to notice a foulness in the meat of the turtles in the channels around Insomnia, mostly due to the fact they’d taken a liking to living in the sewers. Which meant they carried a higher proportion of bacteria that was harmful to humans, and wasn’t easily gotten rid of.

Noctis was pretty sure he hated Gladio in that moment, and begged Ignis to spare him the homilies as he crouched over his apartment’s toilet, heaving what was probably lunch from eighth grade into the bowl. Because Ignis was apparently half-goat and Gladio was built like a brick shithouse with a constitution to match, neither suffered anything worse than gas.

A ban of trapping turtles and other amphibian and reptile species for consumption was put out shortly thereafter.


	6. Poison Ivy and Empire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Gladio is the worst type of book reader, Prompto craps somewhere he shouldn't have, and Ignis is everyone's perpetually harassed dorm mother (Noctis floats around in the back being all wise and shit). This time its actually literally a drabble.

“Prompto, why are you digging at yourself.” It was more a statement than a question, because Prompto, if fact, had been viciously scratching an area between his groin and upper thighs for the past few hours. Ignis realized it wasn’t going to stop, judging from his desperate expression, and so decided to meet the situation head on. 

 

The look the boy gave him in response could have melted the coldest heart; obviously in discomfort and looking for anyone to alleviate it. It reminded one of a puppy. But before he could open his mouth to speak, the basso rumbling of Gladio, flipping through volume v of the epic saga he’d been voraciously reading. 

 

“I told him not to go there, but he didn’t listen to me.”

 

“Go where?” Ignis immediately rejoindered with, to which Gladio simply unperterbedly skipped an entire chapter without even looking at it. 

 

“Remember the patch of ‘scary, look but don’t touch’ ivy we found in the slough? Genius here ran right into them for cover when his leaky gut hit.” Ignis was listening intently, hands on his hips, though by this point in Gladio’s narrative, he’d pushed up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Before he completely dropped trou, I told him what those weeds were and what was gonna happen if he ‘went’ there.”

 

To this, Ignis now turned his head to look critically at the boy, whose helpless expression looked exactly like the puppy Gladio said he’d resembled when he seemed to process this, and then proceeded with his business anyway. 

 

“Right, then.” Ignis sighed, gestured at the golden-haired boy’s belt. “Off with the lot. We’ll see how bad the damage is.” 

 

With a sigh, Prompto had unbuckled and unzipped his pants only far enough to see the majority of the rash. Ignis, who had crouched down to examine the ailment closely, reached forward to tug the waistband further down, followed by Prompto’s boxers. When they’d hit the backs of Prompto’s knees, he retracted his hands to assess what was there. A yellowish lymph was slowly leaking from the irritated welts forming between the boy’s legs, scored here and there by what had undoubtedly been Prompto’s mutilations. Clinically, with no interest except for the matter at hand, he carefully moved the boy’s genitalia to monitor the extent of the reaction, and gave another, pointed sigh at the welts that seemed to originate there. 

 

“Noct isn’t going to be happy to be sent back.” He murmured, more to himself than anyone else. For Noctis, indeed, was currently on a supply run, picking up ingredients for their meal that night as well as curatives. A glance at his phone indicated the pulsing blip that was Noctis was already at their campsite. Ignis stood, leaving Prompto standing with his pants around his ankles, looking confused.

 

Noctis’s expression mirrored his quite adorably when he glanced up from his own phone, bag of groceries in the crook of his other arm, and caught sight of the tableau before him. 

 

“What--” He began, eyes flicking from the grim set of Ignis’s lips, Gladio reclining in his camp chair, face pillowed on one huge fist, and then finally Prompto, who had slightly embarrassedly cradled his exposed genitals, but was also trying to unobtrusively itch the blistering rash on his upper thighs.

 

“Don’t ask.” Gladio immediately said, still without looking up from his book. 

 

“Noct, I hate to ask you to make a special trip, but it seems we’re in need of curatives for poisonous shrubbery.” Noctis’s lips pursed slightly, but he set the bag on one of the empty camp chairs and, commendably without acknowledging Prompto standing with his head bowed, junk tucked into his folded hands, asked.

 

“Sure. Am I looking for anything in specific?” Ignis gave him a brief rundown of the medicinal cream he was to be on the lookout for, to which Noctis listened intently, nodded, and left without another word. 

 

“Duuuuuude.” Prompto finally, faintly, warbled from his statue-like position. “Can I  _ please _ put my pants back on?” His face was vaguely pink when Ignis turned to consider him, his dusting of freckles standing out against the rush of blood to his face. 

 

“No.” Ignis stated, flatly. “In fact, take them off entirely. There’s likely still abrasive oils still in the fabric, and since you chose to wear them for the past twelve hours after, its likely embedded its way in quite firmly.” While Prompto was mournfully climbing out of his pants, added. “And don’t put on a new pair. You still have the oils on your skin, which you’ll transfer to anything else you wear. Go and wash up.” And he nodded towards the brook babbling, happy and unaware of the suffering only a few feet from it. “Soak for a while. And here.” Ignis reached into the bag Noctis had abandoned and tossed a bottle of dish soap towards the doleful boy. “Scrub with this. Not too hard, you’ll just irritate everything more. Just enough until you feel the stinging start to subside.” 

 

“This sucks!” Prompto finally muttered to himself as he began to strip out of the rest of his clothes, too depressed to even be thankful for the treatment Ignis had supplied him. 

 

“Next time, don’t crap in a patch of poison ivy.” Gladio quipped, eliciting a disgusted scoff and an exaggerated eye roll. Only when Prompto had finally slipslided down the bank and out of sight did Ignis allow the small sporfle he’d been holding back to escape him, immediately joined by a laugh that was mostly a snort from Gladio. Together, they gestured and quietly wheezed at each other in order to make the other stop laughing. 

 

“It’s unkind.” Ignis said, finally, gathering a modicum of composure. Gladio pressed fingertips into eyes streaming from mirth, face red. 

 

“Yeah, but did you see the look on the little guy’s face? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything that sorry since I saw a dog get stuck in a hedge.” When Noctis returns, it’s to the smell of one of Prompto’s favorite dishes (a hearty bean soup that no-one but Prompto, and Ignis with the help of special supplemental enzymes, is able to digest without tragedy) being simmered on the grill, and the faint sounds of Gladio spot-checking Prompto (and then sending him back into the stream to scrub more). 

 

It’s a domestically familiar scene, and one that Noctis can’t help but feel a sense of peace in witnessing. Happiness, no matter how transient, is hard to come by these days, and rare. He can’t help but return Ignis’s small smile upon seeing each other. When Prompto climbs squishily up the hill, an oversized towel wrapped around his hips like a ceremonial robe, Gladio laughing at his disgruntled expression, Noctis can’t help but laugh too. It feels good, in that moment, to know that (poison ivy and Empire bedamned) home isn’t a place, but people.


	7. A Study in Measure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively titled: Voretooths are gigantic assholes. Also, why it's such a pain to drive through Cleigne and its ridiculous roads.

No one had seen the marauding pack of voretooths approaching the road for several reasons; Ignis was approaching a steep bend and had yet to decelerate, which meant the engine drowned out the noise that one normally hears in a marauding band of voretooths. Secondly, they’d been driving for quite some time at that point, having started in the Quay shortly after rising with their intended target being the Vesperpool. After driving for some time, each one of the retinue started exhibiting their own brand of irritability of a long trip by car. Ignis was always the last to crack, but when he did, it meant it was time to pull over for the day and find somewhere to rest.

Prompto, on the other hand, got bored quickly and easily, and being unable to sleep in a moving car meant staying awake to pester Ignis. So it was mostly due to this that Ignis was paying more attention to shoving Prompto’s fluffy head out of his line of sight than he was on the road. Gladio, sick of trying to squash the irrepressible sprite, had been rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes when it had happened. And Noctis, in his usual manner of reaction to an unpleasant situation, attempted to distance himself from the chaos by sitting up on the boot of the car.

So when the first voretooth connected with the front right bumper, several things happened at once. The car’s trajectory was changed, pointing towards the guardrail, and Ignis reacted immediately and unthinkingly. Mashing the breaks, he threw out a hand to restrain the boy he knew would be rapidly accelerating towards the dashboard. Gladio, unaware of the hazard they were about to face, had only enough time to catch himself before breaking his nose on the headrest before him.

Noctis, on the other hand, was catapulted from the car.

It would only be later, when Ignis could analyze the events that had happened too quickly to react to, that Ignis knew that there wasn’t anything he could do. Logically, he knew this to be true. In the brake and turn method Ignis had been forced to employ, Noctis had been thrown off the side from the resultant centrifugal force.

The direct result of this being that Ignis caught the sight of Noctis cartwheeling in the air in his peripheral vision, before landing in a heap some thirty yards away. For several heart stopping minutes in which Ignis was stabbing a voretooth which had climbed up the side of the door and was attempting to sever his jugular, Noctis didn’t move. Then shakily, he stirred, arms lifting, knees bending, head shifting back and forth. _He’s alive_. Was all Ignis could think about, and a new inferno of rage shot forth through his mind.

In the period that Ignis slit the throats of three more of the predators and crushed the vertebrae of another, Noctis pulled himself up to his hands and knees. By the time Ignis, bleeding from a bite to his side and sick from the toxins in the things’ mouths, managed to approach Noctis, he’d regained his feet and Ignis was just beginning to think maybe everything was going to be alright.

When he shouted Noctis’s name, and Noctis turned toward him, and Ignis was able to see the dark patch of red matting his helmet of black hair and realize his mistake. Turning too quickly had disrupted the many delicately tuned systems in Noctis’s body that were just beginning to parse themselves back together, and when Ignis put on an extra burst of speed (despite the sharp stab of pain in his foot that signified something was broken) he was able to catch the prince before he hit the asphalt again.

Ignis tried to control the emotion in his voice when he said Noctis’s name again, but he knew there was a rawness borne of desperate fear and love that even the strictest self-control wouldn’t change. Because there he was, six years old and watching, terrified, the four year old prince laying still on the marble floor, or eighteen and close to weeping when he’d found bruises on his charge’s body from years of physical harassment, or now.  When Noctis’s face turned ghastly white, and Ignis realized there was blood matted into his left eye’s lashes when they fluttered with the effort to keep his neurons firing and stay alive. The mockery of a smile that twitched up his lips and revealed blood between his teeth when he spoke-

“Y’okay there, Specs?” in something so weak and broken it couldn’t have even been called a whisper. The abrupt comprehension Ignis got when Noct didn’t say anything more, eyes frozen while looking into Ignis’s own.

And Ignis had to fight the urge to scream, to wail, to utterly destroy the world that had damaged this most precious of children, who was good and kind and loved the world in a capacity that Ignis knew would hurt him in the end. He couldn’t cry. He couldn’t panic. He couldn’t grieve.

Because there was still time. The phoenix down in his hand, crushing it against the exposed, ruined skull meant he still had time, and the last high elixir that brought the youth, gasping, back to life.

It was only when Ignis verified that Noctis’s airways were open and unclogged, that he was responding to external stimuli, and he had a rudimentary control of his faculties, that Ignis clutched this surprisingly ephemeral boy. The sharp slats of Noctis’s ribs were like accusations against the flat of Ignis’s palm, the bumps of his spine juxtaposed against the soft curve where his skull met his neck cupped in Ignis’s left hand.

He could feel the wet, uneven puffs of air against his ear that signified Noctis was breathing, even if he wasn’t moving around much, arms and legs laying limply.  “Musta gave ya fright, huh?” was the only indication Ignis had that Noctis was actually conscious and was going to be okay.

Ignis used everything he had not to sob when he nodded. “Yes, Highness.” It really was going to be okay.

 


	8. The Prince is Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or times when Noct was put into danger or hurt in unexpected ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh I have so many of these fics, I could make another little series out of them. for more noct!whump and my own observations, come scream at me on tumblr! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/panzerschocolade

* * *

 

The sight of someone unfamiliar at the gates of the Amicitia manor was so unusual that Noctis found himself calling out to them before he could stop and think about it. It was a girl, probably only a few years older than him. Her shoulders were slumped even while her head was back, staring up at the towering building like it held the answers to all her life’s woes. When she heard him, she wobbled, as if she didn’t have her bearings under her. But her clothes were nice, fashionable- if Specs was a girl, this was the way she would have dressed. Would have looked like her, too, he realized when he got a look at her face.

But past the sandy hair and sharp green eyes were where the similarities ended. The expression of loss and distress on her face was so unlike his future advisor that Noctis felt the air around him noticeably chill. Noctis felt a sudden grief he couldn’t explain upon seeing her.

“Do you get it?” Her voice was so low, it would have been easy to miss it. It was the same voice he’d heard from the man who’d lost his home in the Galadhian Islands, the same as the travelling salesman from Galdin Quay whose shipment had been requisitioned by the empire, always the same. Despite their difference in age, he barely sixteen, she at most twenty, he suddenly felt decades older.

“If you hadn’t been around, none of this would have happened.” She continued, turning towards him stiffly. “He could have a life, and it would be me and not you he’d stop everything for at the drop of a hat. Last week, when he told me his “duty” to you was something that could never be compromised, and he asked me to understand.” It was only then, when the metal caught the light from the streetlamp and flashed, that Noctis caught sight of her hand, and wondered sickly how long she’d been holding the knife. “I guess I can always give this back now.”

Noctis was very aware he had always lived on the edge of safety and bodily harm. It was part of the reason why he started training in martial arts so early on in his life, despite Gladiolus’s disparagement and dubiousness that Noctis could handle it seriously. After throwing himself into the exercises, Gladiolus slowly became more trusting. Until they finally progressed to today, where Gladio considered Noctis at the very least an equal on the training ground and chastised him if he didn’t pull his weight.

But Noctis hadn’t expected to find anyone on his impromptu trip to meet Gladio. He’d intended to drag his future Shield on a trip to one of the larger parks in Insomnia so they could go fishing and camping. Being faced with a sobbing, distraught young woman outside of the Amicitia home, Noctis was at a total loss for what to do. When she made the obvious charge at him, he didn’t block her clumsy stab, disarm, and incapacitate her. If he’d been expecting it, it really would have been the easiest thing in the world just to step out of the way. Had it been the Crownsguard intercepting this attack, it would have been handled politically- she would have been put down decisively, despite the fact she was just a normal girl with a broken heart.

So even though it was clear she intended to cause serious bodily harm, and even though she loudly telegraphed her motions, Noctis barely managed to sidestep. Calculating her speed and trajectory was second nature to him, avoiding her thrust should have been one of the most natural things in the world. But he’d been so caught off guard by this sudden and quickly devolving chain of events, protecting himself hadn’t even entered his mind.

Noctis winced, lips pulling back from his teeth in an involuntary snarl, as he felt the blade pull his clothes, and then sink as deeply as it could go, between his ribs and hip bone.

He wasn’t sure which of them had made the sudden, stuttering whimper. Or if the girl was transfixed by what she had just done and was frozen in place in shock, or if his hands reaching up to hold his stomach was stopping her.

“What the actual fiery Betrayer is going on here.” The sudden sound of his future Shield’s voice was like a lightning clap, his footsteps like a thunderstorm rolling in. Noctis was pretty well acquainted with being injured with bladed weapons at this point. It didn’t make the successive times he was wounded by them any less painful, but he knew the sensations to expect. In a way, it became less frightening.

From where Noctis could see him out of the corner of his eye, Gladiolus must have seen him wince, and had definitely heard him cry out in pain. His Shield took the last few feet separating him from their grim tableau running, grabbed the white-faced girl’s arm to sling her backwards, away from the Prince. It seemed to occur in slow motion- her face slack and horrified, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. The knife ripping backwards out of his body, almost as painful as when it had gone in, and his automatic, instinctive response of Noctis clapping a hand to the wound. In the absence of the blade, he felt the blood welling up like a spring from beneath his fingers. By the time it dribbled onto his shin, as he staggered to keep his balance in the absence of the knife holding him up, the blood was only lukewarm.

When Gladio did finally reach him, pivoting from his first task of securing the prince’s immediate proximity, he supported Noctis only in the crook of his elbow. It struck Noctis how small he felt, how Gladio could envelop his body almost completely just by wrapping an arm around Noctis and cupping him into his side. It was as if all the years they’d known each other hadn’t transpired, Noctis was still a small, frail ten-year-old, and Gladio nearly adult-sized at thirteen. He kept forgetting how much bigger Gladio was than he, because even while his legs weakened, it took his Shield no effort at all to keep him upright.

Noctis still had the presence of mind to feel ashamed that even though he was a child of the Royal Blood, he still couldn’t keep a yelp from escaping when Gladio reached down to probe the quickly blossoming red patch on his tshirt, past his hooded vest.But with the sudden wave of nausea and lightheadedness that followed the sensation of Gladio’s broad fingertips separating the lips of the wound, he didn’t have much time to think about it.

For a terrifying second, he wanted nothing more than to let Gladio protect him from the threat that had done this to him. But when Gladio shifted slightly, he caught a flash of the sight that reminded him- the grief-stricken face, the horrified eyes of the girl huddled on the ground.. It would have made this injury meaningless in the first place had he said nothing. Hearing Gladio growl in the back of his throat like a dog brought him back into the moment, startling him into consciousness.

“What the fuck have you done?” rumbled through Noct’s head, felt more than heard since Noctis’s face was pressed almost suffocatingly into Gladio’s chest. The hand not pressed into Noctis’s side clutched Noctis’s head, like an overprotective mother. Past the bursts of grey static building in his vision, it took him a huge amount of effort to find strength to grit out,

“Gladio.” The warm sensation that had washed over his body, assuring him it would all be alright had now been replaced by something cold, and the feeling of losing hold on his consciousness. He wouldn’t be able to stand for much longer. “She’s just upset. She didn’t mean to hurt me.” He knew that, usually, Gladio tried to take Noctis’s statements into account, despite his younger age and lack of experience. Gladio trusted his level observations and quick mind, his ability to maintain his composure when adrenaline and tensions ran high. So he felt some measure of hopeful promise when he saw Gladio’s eyes turn down to consider him. But then the youth’s face had twisted into an expression of frantic terror and rage that Noctis couldn’t ever remember seeing on his Shield before.

“You’ve just committed an act of high treason, you understand that, right?” Gladio clearly was still not talking to Noctis, perhaps having concluded that Noctis was in shock. And despite the potent rage in his Shield’s voice, Noctis could also hear a great measure of desperation and hurt, and he wanted to reassert that this girl really hadn’t been in her right mind when she’d done… this. “And he’s standing here trying to defend you.”

At that moment, Noctis felt the strength go out of his legs. Hitting the pavement as he slipped out of Gladio’s grasp was almost a relief compared to the strain of standing. Well, there went that defense.

The unpleasant chill and hardness of the concrete was replaced by large, warm hands, grabbing one shoulder to turn him. He thought he heard Gladio gasp, as if he hadn’t been aware of the severity of the wound in Noctis’s side. Honestly, he wasn’t sure from the blood pounding through his ears; he felt his Shield readjust his grip on his prince, and suddenly the chill of the pavement was replaced by the warmth of Gladio lifting him onto his lap. The Shield’s thigh (though hard) was a much nicer support than the pavement had been, though he didn’t appreciate Gladio’s rough, fingers lifting his shirt and probing the wound. Noctis made a sound at that, not quite unlike the yowl of a sick cat.

Though he hated to see the naked look of panic in Gladiolus’s face, he really didn’t have the energy to do much more. He was feeling very tired and he was now just wishing this whole situation would just go away. Gladio would help him inside and let him crash on the couch until the next day. If Gladio’s dad was there, they’d all laugh about it and then maybe go get breakfast.

The odd humming noise that he thought had come from collapsing suddenly resovled into a high, warbling screaming. It had gone on for a few seconds now, but with all the adrenaline, he really hadn’t taken much effort to identify the voice. Of course, it was unusual to hear a little girl screaming like that in Insomnia, so it wasn’t as if Noctis wasn’t alarmed and confused by this new development. Though if she’d just been witness to what had unfolded less than a block away from her, he really couldn’t blame her for it.

He only connected that it might have been Iris when the Marshal of the Crownsguard materialized out of the darkness, katana in one hand, wakizashi in the other, murder in his expression. Noctis was just thinking this was getting a little out of hand until Cor passed the slack jawed girl on the ground and approached Gladiolus. He, too, seemed to find it necessary to poke around in the new hole in Noctis’s gut, his face grew grave, tensing from the sounds wrenched out of Noctis by his ministrations. Noct could still see his blood was on the Marshal’s hands when he stood up, reaching over to grab the girl’s arm.

“Get him back to the Citadel and bring him to the medical wing for observation.” Cor said, tersely and handed him a bottle Noct recognized as a High Potion from the King’s own storage.

“And give him something sugary to drink for the shock.” He added when Gladio accepted the drink. Seemingly as an afterthought, turning as he sheathed his weapons, he said over his shoulder as he seized one of the girl’s upper arms and foisted her off the ground, “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow in my office, Amicitia.”

Noctis winced at the bitter taste when Gladiolus snapped the vial and jammed it into the corner of his mouth; it was designed in such a way as to force the person to take the medicine therein, even if they didn’t want to or were incapable of it. The small appendage fluting off from the clean break extended into one’s mouth in order to administer the liquid without flooding the person’s airways. He still coughed at the sensation, swearing to himself that he’d make his own curatives with soda someday, and sneezed some of the mixture up. He was only just collecting himself as the potion took effect when he realized his Shield was watching him with an expression that suggesting he might be watching his Prince dying.

It was still too serious a situation to laugh at. As he could feel the potion take effect, the world refocused, and a rush of energy returned to his limbs. He felt so well in just under a minute that he was able to stand, with the help of his Shield. Noctis didn’t try cracking a joke.

“She didn’t get anything important. It was really just a graze.” He muttered, and to demonstrate, he pulled up his t-shirt and hooded vest. Instead of the gaping, bloody mouth of a stab wound on his left side, was the pink, raw tissue of a freshly knitted wound.

Gladio’s expression transformed into one so mournful that he looked as if someone had actually died. He removed his cap with one hand and clasped Noctis’s shoulder with the other, as if he were afraid Noctis would disappear.

“There are arteries in your abdomen, Highness, that she easily could have nicked” Gladio, the epitome of male bravado, of pulling oneself up by the bootstraps, of indomitable will, was barely audible. His voice suggested he was speaking to Iris, had she been horribly sick. “The blade was at least three inches long, and it doesn’t take much force to penetrate the abdominal wall. She could have punctured one of your lungs or gone past your ribs and into your heart.”

Gladio sounded like he was only a few seconds from totally losing it; there was a sort of manic gleam to his eyes Noctis recognized in frightened feral strays. To Gladio, he’d been closer than he’d ever come to watching his prince die. It wasn’t the actual closest Noctis had come, but Gladio hadn’t been his Shield then, and he hadn’t been there when daemonic fury ripped Noctis’s life apart with uncaring ease.

“Gladio.” He still felt strangely giddy and the wound felt tender, but he managed the thread a laugh into his words. “She’s an ordinary citizen with no military training, it’s unlikely she would have seriously hurt me. At best she was unstable. She was hurt, she lashed out.” He prayed he’d never have to actually find out if that was the truth or not. In this instance, he couldn’t be the one falling apart. He’d seen his dad do this so many times, he’d lost count. When all hope looked like it was lost, the King was always there.

Noct reached up, dealing a fortifying slap on his Shield’s bicep. “Thanks for having my back there, man. I appreciate it.” He kept the contact for just a moment longer, trying to convey that he really was going to be okay through the pressure of his grip. He must have done something right, because Gladio spun him around so his back was pressed into his Shield’s side.

A small fluttering sensation signified Iris joining them, hurtling into Gladio’s other side. She was barely comprehensible, but through her nearly apoplectic fear and rage, Noctis pieced together that the girl had been Gladio’s longtime girlfriend, and Iris had known something like this was going to happen. Though what Noctis wondered most, while being plied with the most sugary mug of hot chocolate he’d ever had, was how Gladio managed to find the time and energy to have a girlfriend between his studies, his Crownsguard training, and preparing as the next Shield.

Noctis wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but the glowing numbers of the clock by the tv flickering indicated it was in the early hours of the next morning when he partially woke. He hadn’t been sure what had woken him, at first; he’d fallen asleep pressed into Gladio’s side, the older boy’s left pectoral providing a reasonably comfortable pillow, his arm draped over Noctis’s side like a blanket. The deep buzzing under his right ear soon told him. Gladio was speaking softly, his father standing before the tableau, holding Iris slumped in his arms. Noct wasn’t sure exactly what was being said- the sound of his Shield’s voice was lulling him back to sleep too quickly to discern. But Noctis knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt as his eyes fell shut again, that he was safe.


	9. Pellex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> done for the FFXV Kink meme- "Instead of being allowed to join the military, Ravus was taken as a war prize/concubine and trained to provide sexual pleasure for the Niflheim elite. When the war ends/a treaty is finally being signed, he's given to Lucis as a "gift of peace".
> 
> Would be interested in either a light ending where he's treated well and helped to recover from a decade of abuse, or a dark ending where things don't really change that much for him."

To say Ravus has gotten used to it would be an understatement. In a way, he’s embraced this, ever since that night he stood, stunned, unable to move, and watched flames flicker across his mother’s face. Ever since that man took his baby sister’s delicate face between forefinger and thumb and then smiled. Even at sixteen, Ravus knew what that smile meant, and he felt his blood boiling in a way he’d only felt since that night when it all fell apart. He hadn’t known what he was doing even when his body moved, seemingly of its own volition, and he struck the hand holding his sister’s face, hard, away from her.

“Do not  _dare_  to presume to touch the Oracle.” He’d snarled, bringing all of the man’s amber-eyed attention directly on him. It was when the mood shifted that he realized his mistake, but Ravus didn’t back down, not now when it all sat on his shoulders; he’d seen the smile on the man’s lips and hadn’t understood it wholly, but he knew it was completely different than it was now.

“Oh  _no_ , you misunder _stand_.” The man said, his voice so contrite, so wheedling that Ravus had no doubt the feeling of dread he was suddenly struck with was by no means unintentional. “She looks so like a friend I used to know. But I supposed you’ll do.” The curling smile the man then treated him to him, entirely different from the one he’d given Lunafreya, cemented the feeling of dread that accompanied the realization that something very bad was about to happen. He hated the way Lunafreya stood, stock-still, in the middle of the courtyard, her tiny white figure dwindling as she watched Ravus dragged off in tow. As if she was afraid, by moving, she’d cause her brother even more pain. But even so, when that man dragged him into a side door back into the Manor, Ravus still was able to feel a small measure of triumph.

It ended up that they didn’t go far. The man growled that surely Ravus didn’t want his baby sister to hear him in such a state, in a room just above the courtyard. But he also wouldn’t allow Ravus to cover his mouth with his hand while it happened, pinning both wrists as he pounded Ravus into the creaking back of a delicate armchair. And he still felt a grim sense of accomplishment, though the taste of the man was still in his mouth, even when he gasped, shamefaced and dripping with his own fluids, through the end. Even when the man murmured a praise, breathy and piqued (“Good boy”) into his ear, the man, pulling out, leaving a flood of unpleasant wetness down the backs of Ravus’s thighs.

At this point, it was expected. The King’s face had the same intense, otherworldly expression Ravus remembered even now, when he saw Ravus and heard the words “A peace offering, of sorts” paired with that unerring laugh. Ravus wasn’t stupid- he knew such things were unheard of in Lucis- a comfort companion was, no doubt, illegal. But Ravus was also too well-trained, and wordlessly started to strip when they were in the confines of His Majesty’s chambers. He wasn’t to speak specifically until spoken to, and while they’d covered some conversational ground as they walked from the throne room, Ravus knew what was coming when they reached his apartments.

Though the King’s Shield was initially hesitant to be dismissed, when Regis told him he hadn’t had a chance to speak to Ravus in a long time, Ravus only sighed to himself. It was as it ever was in the Empire- important people were surrounded always by some sort of retinue, and it was part of the dance. Excuse yourself from your duties, make obeisance and apologies, and then play with the new toy you got once alone. Usually alone, but he had also gotten used to having to put on a show for anyone watching, as well as entertain several people at once. Ravus, having once grown sick of the atrocities done to him, growled he “wasn’t some common whore” at the man who’d started this whole thing, he knew when that man’s lip curled in an ugly smile and said

“…well, aren’t you?” That the man was entirely correct.

So now, Ravus was close to only wearing his underthings when he realized that he hadn’t given His Majesty a chance to decide and stopped, under jacket hanging from his arms, pants open. Often they liked to “unwrap their present” themselves, he knew by experience. “How do you want me?” He realized was too blunt only after it had left his mouth, and he was turning, half-expecting to receive a blow to his face. “Your Highness.” He added, because he didn’t hate His Majesty. Not when he’d fled with that puling little cur of his and Lunafreya. Not when he’d left Ravus behind, clutching the body of his mother. Not even when the troops of the enemy surrounded him. Not even now.

But to see the astounded expression on his Majesty’s face now was too cruel, and then the warring emotions of horror and affront. Ravus wasn’t to do anything until whomever he was given to demanded it. So, he simply watched as his Highness broke down before him, first looking to Ravus, and then turning away, his mouth fixed in a grimace. Then, he took two surprisingly strong steps forward and started buttoning Ravus’s pants with an almost vicious-sounding growl. “No!”

The King’s fingers worked surprisingly deftly, dressing another person, and Ravus had to wonder, slightly absently, how he’d gotten so much practice to do it so well. The slight tug of fabric away from Ravus’s groin, as if to preserve some modicum of respect he had for the son of the Oracle, as he zipped them closed, his fingers steadily working up as he did up every last button on Ravus’s jacket. “What did they do to you, child?”

Ravus hadn’t seriously been called that in a long, long time, and he was at a loss as how to respond. He could only stare, mutely, at the man standing before him, apparently fighting tears, still fussing with the collar of his jacket, arranging it so it sat closer to Ravus’s neck, as if worried he would catch cold. “I am here at Your Majesty’s behest. Do with me what You wilt.” Was all he could think of to how to respond.

“Child…” He couldn’t quite place the expression on Regis’s face, but it was similar to the one he’d worn before, shock mingling with horror. But now he looked exhausted and sad. More gently than Ravus had expected, he clasped the younger by the arms and turned him to the small lounge area near the entrance, and sat Ravus down in one of the dark, opulent couches before taking the armchair beside it. “I’m so sorry I left you, my child.” Was how the conversation that led long into the night began.

Remarkably, Ravus did not cry. Not even once. The rage he felt for his country, for his mother, for Lunafreya, for the predicament Niflhiem put him in, over and over, had fled. In the darkest hours of the morning, when he was alone, he could admit that it was grief he felt instead of anger. Now, he simply felt relief. It was slightly unnerving that he wasn’t having sex with this man, making him anxious.

“What of Lunafreya?” He burst, suddenly, when Regis was refilling his cup of coffee. “If I don’t do what they ask of me, I don’t know what they’ll do…”

After that first time, Lunafreya never spoke of what they did to him. When she had seen him emerge, bruised and rumpled (and looking so “delightfully well-fucked” the Chancellor murmured faux-demurely), she’d cried. Not full-on weeping- as she reached up to touch the bruise on the corner of his mouth, he watched her smooth brow knit. When her fingers hesitated over the buttons of his shirt done up wrong, he watched her tiny, bow-shaped lips purse together instead of sob. From that first time, he’d learned to always change clothes as he watched her gaze fall on the stain of blood spreading against his inner thigh, and she ducked her head. Her eyelashes fluttered as first one tear and then another and another fell from her eyes, streaking down her cheeks like tiny shooting stars. As that man walked away, his gate long and rolling and pleased with himself, Ravus gently grasped Lunafreya by her shoulders and, tucking her against his chest, let himself feel that small measure of triumph.

The pain on Regis’s face was unmistakable, but the hand holding the carafe remained steady. “She’s safe, son.” He said as put down the container, and then he firmly clasped Ravus’s bicep. His thumb moved gently, ever so slightly, in a soothing motion. “I give you my word.”

When Ravus emerged, alone, from His Majesty’s rooms at the end of the night, that man stood just beyond in the corridor. He wore no expression Ravus could distinguish.

“Come.” He said, signaling for Ravus to approach, and then lifting a hand to clasp the back of Ravus’s neck as they turned to walk down the corridor. His gaze was so like the King’s, wide and otherworldly, and they glowed like candles in the dark. “You can make your apologies to the High Commander for your failure. And then, to me.”  


As ever, Ravus said nothing. He allowed himself to be led away, tacitly, and allowed himself that small feeling of triumph.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't take Ravus out of the Niflhiem army because I felt like this could actually happen with him still in the army- I hope it doesn't detract from the fill, I had a fun (?) time writing it <3


End file.
